


Thief (Who Watches the Watcher?)

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are small things that she picks up, even though they were never meant to be shared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thief (Who Watches the Watcher?)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the September 2007 Challenge at foxriver_fic. Prompt: “A stolen moment’.

She sometimes feels like a thief. These are small things that she picks up, even though they were never meant to be shared: she just has to sit and wait to see them happening, and they pop up to her attention, most of the time catching her off guard.

\- - - - -

John Abruzzi likes to run his fingers through the grass. He usually casts a quick and cautious glance around him (because well... he is John Abruzzi and he won’t be caught doing that kind of stuff), then he crouches and lets his hand wander for just a few seconds. When he stands up again, he clenches his fist as if he could still feel the grass tickling his palm.

Henry Pope’s eyes brighten up a bit too much when Michael is waiting outside of his office. _Never fall in love with an inmate, don’t even let them become close to you_ , someone once advised Sara. And it was wise advice – should have been followed by _Never consider an inmate to be anything more than an inmate_. Had nobody ever advised Henry Pope not to consider an inmate for more than what he is? Sara knows what she’s talking about, here.

Benjamin Franklin once let drop an Iraqi postcard to the floor of the infirmary. He has looked up and met her eyes. She hasn’t asked, and he hasn’t told. She just handed it back to him.

From time to time, Charles Westmoreland still folds his arms as if he was carrying his cat. And it has taken him a few days to stop sneaking food out of the kitchens.

Her father hugs her so hard when she comes to a halt in front of him that, for a millisecond, she would think he has finally got it. There is pain and fear in his eyes. But they disappear as fast as they came, Frank Tancredi goes back to his usual self and wallows in the _I’ve told you so!_ and _When will you understand?_

Theodore Bagwell loves to brag and parade and inspire fear and disgust. But when Sara places her hand under his elbow to help him to his feet, and then pats his shoulder in a soothing gesture, he flinches and recoils. She knows that the power trip she experiences at this very instant is wrong, and she shouldn’t enjoy it. If it was anyone but T-Bag, she would not enjoy it – which is probably the worst part.

Fernando Sucre once asked her what kind of clothes you should wear to attend a ballet – _that_ has undeniably caught her off guard, to be honest. Sara thinks he keeps on writing to his girlfriend, even though the girl doesn’t visit him anymore and won’t answer the letters. Truth be told, Sara isn’t even sure he does send the letters.

Lincoln Burrows always turns his face to the light. Artificial light if there is nothing else, day light if this is possible, and sun light... sun light sometimes looks like his ultimate reward. The sky is the last thing he looks at when the PI team gets in at the end of the day; the windows in the infirmary are the last things he glances at when the guards take him back to his cell. She usually makes him sit facing the window. Just because... you know, she can give him that.

Veronica Donovan has the saddest eyes and the most resolute appearance a woman can display when she opens the door to Sara and lets her in. Sara hopes very very much she will never look like that; she also hopes she may do something to help the young woman standing in front of her.

Their mother or their wife (or girlfriend, or whatever the word you want to use): when they are waking up, still drifting between consciousness and oblivion, they always ask for their mother or their wife. But when Michael Scofield’s eyelashes flutter, it’s his brother’s name that he mumbles. She most definitely should refrain from leaning over him and grazing his temple with her fingertips. She doesn’t; she brushes his brow, whispers: “He’s all right,” and Michael goes back to sleep.

\- - - - -

They’re never aware she’s watching them. She may be a healer, a target or a comfort, an indistinct figure, even a kind of opponent for some of them, but they would never imagine she can be an observer. And every now and then, she wonders who watches the watcher.

-END-


End file.
